


#26, #38

by hhopp



Series: Hhopp's Destiel Angst-a-Thon [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical hurt/comfort, Self Harm, Whump, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10101002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhopp/pseuds/hhopp
Summary: “You promise?”AND“You deserve better.”





	

            Cas nearly dropped his keys as he opened the door. He was juggling all of his work papers, his laptop, everything. He’d barely had the time or presence of mind to grab his phone before he was taking off through glass doors, let alone sort out his belongings. 

 

            “Dean?” As soon as he was inside, he let everything tumble to the floor. He barely heard it all crash in his haste to make his way across the apartment. Dean wobbled out of the bathroom, eyes red and dripping. He had his arms clenched tight around his middle, and _oh God, please don’t let that be blood on his shirt._ “Dean, c’mere, let me see.”He shook his head and hugged himself tighter. 

 

            “It’ll just make you disappointed in me.”

 

            “It won’t, I promise. You couldn’t disappoint me. But you’ve got to let me help you. C’mere.” Dean didn’t move, but didn’t protest, and Cas took his chances and edged closer. Gently, he tugged at one hand. It came away from his waist with little resistance. He looked down at the wrist. Jesus, this was pretty bad. 

 

            “That one’s worse,” Dean choked out. 

 

            “Can I see the other one?” No response, so he squeezed the hand he had tightly. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.” Eventually, Dean let go of himself and held out his arm. He was right, it wasn’t as awful as the first, but it was still bad. “Dean, sweetheart…”

 

            That was when he broke. Cas got an armful of sobbing boyfriend and stumbled at the weight. He’d been doing so well. It had been months since the last time, he’d been going to therapy and taking his medication and everything. Why now? 

 

            He mumbled little comforts for a good five minutes. Dean just shook against him and buried his face in Cas' neck. He let his blunt nails scrape up and down against the soft material of a Zeppelin t-shirt. 

 

            “I’m sorry, Cas, I’m so, so sorry. I—” Cas hushed him. 

 

            “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not upset with you. We can work through this, we always do.” Bottle-green eyes blinked up at him.

 

            Dean had been quietly struggling since he was a teenager. His mother had been gone for years and his consistently-drunk father didn’t pay much attention to anything other than his next bottle. The cutting was more recent, starting around the time his little brother had gone off to college. Cas had come into the picture about two years after that. They moved in together after Dean’s last roommate, Charlie, died in a hit-and-run three days after his birthday. A few months later, they went out for coffee and Dean spilled his tale. Cas had been helping him fight his monsters ever since. 

 

            “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” They shuffled to the kitchen. Dean hoisted himself up onto the counter while a silent Cas rummaged under the sink for the first aid kit. He resolutely ignored the tears in his own eyes as he pressed a cloth to Dean’s wrists. The blood stopped coming after a few moments, they really hadn’t been bleeding that badly. He’d made a lot of cuts, but none of them were deep. “This is going to sting.”

 

            Dean dug his teeth into his lip. He breathed in sharply when the cool disinfectant hit, but he didn’t hiss. The gauze unrolled easily from the spool, forming thick bracelets around the narrow red splits. Cas was almost done, tearing a piece of tape to hold down the bandages, when Dean grabbed his hand.

 

            “Please,” he whispered, fragile voice cracking like ice on the word. 

 

            “Please what?”

 

            “Get angry. Please. Yell at me, or…” His eyes were starting to moisten again.

 

            “Why would I yell at you?”

 

            “Come on, yell at me. Get mad. Get angry. You’ve got to be angry at me. I did this. I did it to myself, I relapsed, you’ve gotta get mad.” He began curling Cas' fingers into a fist, squeezing it tight in his own hands before looking back up. “Please, Cas, yell. Hit me. Something, please.” Cas didn’t say a word. He stood, stock-still, as Dean tugged on his arm, letting the loose fist he’d created hit his shoulder. “You need to be mad at me.” He kept going, sobbing out nonsense and smacking Cas’ hand against himself. He kept re-curling the fingers into a fist every time they slackened. Cas stood, numb, and tears finally started rolling out of his eyes. 

 

            When Dean hiccuped, he came back to himself. “Baby, no.” He gathered him up into his arms. “Dean, I’m not going to yell at you. I love you. I’d never hurt you. I promise. Please, you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. Look at me. Look at me, I’d never hurt you. I’m not angry.” 

 

            “Please, Cas.” The words came out muffled in his shoulder. 

 

            “Shh. Shh, shh. I’ve got you. I’m never going to let you go, I’m not going to be upset with you. Never going to hurt you, Dean, I love you too much.” He pulled away, tugging at Dean’s shoulders to get him to let go. His face had given up on tear tracks; now, there were just two thick highways of damp skin trailing from cheek to chin. He raised his thumb to wipe away a few hot droplets. “Let’s get you a glass of water, okay?” He squeezed Dean’s hands _(God, there was blood stuck under his nails)_ and offered a trembly smile before turning away. 

 

            He pulled a tall glass from the cabinet by the fridge and had to set it down on the counter because his hands were shaking so bad. He clenched them together and took a few shuddery breaths before picking it back up and filling it. 

 

            “Thanks.” It was near a whisper. Cas nodded and pulled a dishcloth from the drawer. He dampened it and reached to dab at Dean’s cheeks. If he could just get rid of the tear tracks, just make his red eyes and red arms all better, it would all go away. Dean would be okay. He’d be happy, they’d be able to be happy together without shadows lurking in every corner. “Cas.” Just wipe away the tears and the blood, just scrub it all away and it’ll be normal. “Cas, please.” The glass clunked onto the laminate and he startled. Dean reached for his hands. 

 

            “Sorry, I just— I shouldn’t’ve… I’m sorry.” Dean slipped off the counter and wrapped his arms around him. Cas buried further into the embrace. He shook, hard, and could feel a damp spot growing on the well-worn cotton, but he didn’t really care. Dean was still, just clutching him tight. He didn’t really know when, but eventually they dropped to the floor. Cas’ tears dried up and he tugged Dean onto his lap. “I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with me. I just want to make you better. I don’t want you to hurt anymore, and I wish I could do more to help you. I love you and I feel so helpless watching you like this.”

 

            “You deserve more than me.”

 

            “Never. I love you. And we’re going to fix this.”

 

            “What if we can’t, Cas?” That wasn’t a thought he could handle right now. So he hummed vaguely and tilted Dean’s head further into his shoulder. He let his thumb brush back and forth against the bristly little blonde hairs at the back of his neck. 

 

            After some time, he murmured, “Then we’ll figure something out. We always have, right?”

 

            “You promise?” Dean mumbled. Cas stilled in his movements for a second. Then, pressing a kiss to his temple, he whispered,

 

            “Yeah, baby, I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Kudos, Comments, you know the drill if you've ever read an author's note before.


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